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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29421312">Many Faultless Agonies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper'>spacehopper</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A Leitner Made Them Do It (The Magnus Archives), Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Caning, Desk Sex, Dubious Consent, Erotic Poetry, Impact Play, M/M, Season 2, Sex Pollen, cock spanking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:35:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,433</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29421312</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When suspect reading material turns out to be far more dangerous than Jon expects, he’s swept up into his managerial role in an entirely new way. He’s certain he finally knows how to correct Tim and Martin, stop them from hiding all the secrets they so clearly have. And they find themselves unexpectedly amenable to his guidance, however harsh it may be. </p><p>Sometimes, a firm hand is the only way forward.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Chocolate Box - Round 6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Many Faultless Agonies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/reine_des_corbeaux/gifts">reine_des_corbeaux</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tim was reading.</p><p>Despite what his assistants seemed to think, Jon did not regard every single action they took as inherently suspicious. Reading was not an activity notably associated with murderous intent, at least not on the part of the reader—the book was occasionally more questionable. And when he’d glanced at the cover of the book, it seemed to be nothing more than some old piece of boarding school fiction. Maybe not the most common choice for light reading, but Jon knew Tim’s tastes were eclectic, and that the book fit perfectly well within the realm of books Tim had mentioned before. It might have even been a book Tim mentioned previously, for all Jon knew.</p><p>He sat down at his desk and reached for the tape recorder, hand hovering over it for a moment. Martin had dutifully dropped off the research notes for the latest statement this morning, a nervous smile hovering on his lips. And Jon should record it, would record it. But something felt wrong.</p><p>Well, more wrong than usual. He slumped back in his chair, dragging a hand over his face. They’d already staged one intervention; he really didn’t want to encourage another. And interrogating Tim’s perfectly innocuous reading material during his lunch break wasn’t exactly going to assure anyone Jon was doing better.</p><p>His eyes went to the door of his office again, and his chair creaked as he tensed. But just as his resolve was about to break, sending him dashing into another disaster, Martin appeared in the door with a funny smile on his lips and a mug of tea in his hands.</p><p>“Just thought you’d like some fresh tea,” Martin said, setting the cup on the desk and collecting the half-drank one from that had long gone cold. That was normal enough, but considerably less normal was the way Martin surveyed the room. Like he was checking for something out of place, or perhaps something Jon had left out—</p><p>No. No, he needed to stop this. He promised he’d try, at the very least. So he forced a smile, and reached for the hot cup of tea, holding it tight in his hands.</p><p>“Thank you, Martin.”</p><p>“Is there anything else you need? Something tidied? You know I’m always here to help you.” He ducked his head in a way that seemed a bit…odd, though Jon couldn’t quite figure out why. Martin did tend to hover.</p><p>“No, that’s quite alright.” He took a sip, clearing his throat as he struggled to think of something else to say. “How have you been, Martin? How was your weekend?”</p><p>“Oh, it was lovely. Brilliant bit of cricket, did you see?” His eyes lit with genuine enthusiasm, an enthusiasm Jon struggled to match as he racked his brain for an answer.</p><p>“I, no, I didn’t. I can’t say I’ve ever had much interest in cricket.”</p><p>“Oh, that’s too bad. But I suppose you’re focused on your work, aren’t you?” Martin gave him a guileless smile and glanced at the tea. “I’ll bring you another cup later? I need to run, Tim wanted to go check something in the library.”</p><p>“Yes that—that’s fine, Martin.”</p><p>Jon stayed in his seat, staring at Martin’s retreating form while the seconds ticked by. Cricket wasn’t really suspicious, but he’d swear Martin had never shown the slightest interest. Not just in cricket, but in sports at all, beyond the vague social niceties of generalized patriotic spirit.</p><p>Slowly, Jon got to his feet and crept into the now empty Archives, making his way to Tim’s desk. As he’d hoped, the book from before was lying there, abandoned now that Tim had dragged Martin away on whatever errand he’d conjured up to avoid Jon. It could just be a coincidence. Almost certainly was, but given the topic of the book, it just seemed too—too neat. Too much. And really, Tim had left the book out. It wasn’t like Jon was going through his desk again.</p><p>With a furtive glance towards the entrance to confirm he was alone, he snatched the book off the desk and flipped it open. He didn’t need long, just long enough to confirm the contents. And what he saw made his heart first stop, then begin to beat anew with the sort of vigor only brought by a truly justified outrage.</p><p>He slammed the book shut with shaking hands. It was absolute filth, disgusting and licentious and unholy in ways Jon found his mind shying away from, wary that he might too be tainted if he dwelled on the details overlong. This couldn’t stand.</p><p>Though it pained him to keep his hands on it a minute longer, he couldn't leave it in the open, where it might yet corrupt further innocent souls. Like Martin, poor, sweet Martin who certainly had none of these nameless foul thoughts, these terrible secrets Or at least he wouldn’t, if only Jon could protect him. Protect them both.</p><p>Back in his office, he stashed the book in his bottom drawer and locked it, and began to compose a short email to Tim. Whatever he might’ve done, there were still standards he was obligated to uphold.</p><p>He would make sure this sort of behavior stopped at once. And he would not hesitate, would not shy away from the required methods. No matter how brutal they might be, he would do what was necessary.</p>
<hr/><p>Tim barely glanced at the email before deleting it. If Jon was really so desperate to talk to him, he’d have to catch Tim first. Not summon him to his office, like some sort of disobedient child to be verbally berated and sent on his way red-faced and ashamed.</p><p>The last thought made him shake his head. He’d been feeling a bit off lately. More off than usual, his skin heating and breath quickening at the slightest things, which now apparently included Jon scolding him over some imagined slight. And definitely included the sweet smiles Martin seemed to be shooting him more and more. Like the one he was giving Tim now, holding out a slim volume of poetry.</p><p>“I finished it. It was lovely, and really…” Martin’s face colored, and all thoughts of Jon were driven from Tim’s mind. Part of him wanted to grab Martin, drag him to the nearest closet and just have him, showing him exactly how lovely he could be, with more than poetry falling from his lips. And God, those lips…they’d feel magnificent around Tim’s cock, clumsy with inexperience but with that same dogged enthusiasm Martin applied to everything.</p><p>“Swinburne has some interesting ideas, doesn’t he?” Tim said, swiveling his chair to the side and extending his legs so one ankle brushed Martin’s. Martin started, but didn’t pull away. An encouraging sign, that.</p><p>“You could say that,” Martin replied with a nervous laugh. “I particularly liked…” He coughed, glancing at Jon’s office before lowering his voice. “Anactoria.”</p><p>Tim’s smile widened and his hand tightened around the edge of the desk as he forced himself to conceal his excitement. That Martin would fall so easily…it could only be a sign that this was meant to be. All he needed was some pretense, the least excuse, and he would have Martin exactly where he wanted him, whether that was around his cock or flushed and squirming under the fall of his hand.</p><p>“Ah, ah, thy beauty, like a beast it bites,” Tim quoted, daring to lean forward and dip his fingers under Martin’s shirt. “If I’d known you’d be so easy for poetry, I’d have tried it sooner. I sure saw enough of the stuff at my old job.”</p><p>“Tim,” said exactly the person Tim didn’t want to talk to, cutting through this perfect moment. He dragged his gaze away from Martin to find Jon glaring at him from his office door, something long and thin clutched in one hand. “In my office. Now.”</p><p>For a moment, Tim considered arguing. After all, what right did Jon have? As useless as Elias was, Tim knew he’d back Tim up on this, yet another outrageous overstep from Jon. But even as the thought flashed across his mind, he found it slipping away. Some underlying feeling of duty—of need—drew him instead to Jon’s door, even as a worried Martin trailed behind him.</p><p>“We’ll talk later, Martin,” Tim said, not turning back to look at him as he met Jon’s eyes defiantly. “I don’t think Jon wants you to see this.”</p><p>Jon’s eyes flashed, and his hand tightened around the item in his hand, which upon closer examination seemed to be a cane.</p><p>“Where the hell did you get that?” Tim said, nodding at it.</p><p>“I’ve always had it,” Jon said, a hint of doubt creeping into his voice as he lifted it, turning it over in his hand. “Of course I have.”  He shook his head, and his eyes hardened again as they landed on Tim. “Don’t try and distract me. In my office, now.”</p><p>Had he always had the cane? The question tugged at the corner of Tim’s mind, even as he let Jon usher him into his office, tensing when he heard the lock click. Then again, why wouldn’t he have a cane? Even if Tim didn’t think Jon deserved his position, he still had it for now.</p><p>“Something you wanted, boss?” Tim didn’t take a seat, instead remaining near the door as Jon went back over to his desk.</p><p>“Come here,” Jon said, tapping the cane pointedly on his desk. The surface was cleared of papers and books, and when Tim failed to move, Jon tapped it again. “You’ll only make it worse for yourself if you continue to defy me.”</p><p>“How much worse could it be?” Tim said. But despite his words, his feet carried him forward obediently, one hand resting on Jon’s desk, though he stopped short of bending.</p><p>After all, what happened next was inevitable anyway. And there was something alluring in this dance, the way Jon paced around him and Tim kept his head high. They hated each other, perhaps. Or maybe Tim just hated Jon. Or maybe he didn’t, at least not enough to deny himself the satisfaction of prolonging this mad encounter by meeting Jon’s fiery eyes again.</p><p>“You don’t want me to show you that.” Jon’s hand wrapped around the cane, sliding along it in a way Tim suspected was not intended to be erotic as it was. “I heard you quoting poetry to Martin.”</p><p>His voice hitched on Martin’s name. Interesting, and somewhat unexpected. Though maybe not surprising, that Jon’s disdain would hide stronger emotions. Ones Tim was entirely fine toying with, given how little Jon had done recently to earn any mercy from him.</p><p>“Swinburne,” Tim said agreeably, smoothing his hand along Jon’s desk, rubbing the wood and noting the way Jon’s eyes followed his movements. “Martin likes poetry, you know. Or do you? I guess you haven’t talked to him much, have you. How could you, when you’re so caught up in your pain and your problems, and you don’t have time to do your damn job. Or notice how it’s hurting anyone else.”</p><p>Despite his desire to stay calm, to draw Jon out, to taunt him, Tim knew he’d never been good at this sort of thing. Now when he really cared, and fuck, he really cared. About what Jon had done, and what he hadn’t done, and Martin and—he wanted to get out of here. Now.</p><p>“Just get it over with,” he said, bending over the desk and waiting for Jon to start. But he couldn’t even do that right, insisting on tapping the cane lightly against Tim’s thigh. “What are you waiting for?”</p><p>“Would I not hurt thee perfectly?” Jon said, the words coming down harder than any strike of the cane. “Not touch thy pores of sense with torture, and make bright thine eyes with bloodlike tears and grievous light?”</p><p>“Never would’ve taken you for a poetry fan, boss,” Tim said, throat catching as Jon moved the cane up his thigh to rest along his arse. He hadn’t asked Tim to remove his trousers, at least. And that was particularly good, given Tim was getting hard already. Even not knowing what Jon had in store for him.</p><p>“There’s a certain elegance to it, though I tend to find Swinburne a bit lurid for my tastes. But not nearly as execrable as the book I found in your possession.”</p><p>“You took—”</p><p>Tim yelped as the cane came down suddenly, pain blooming across his arse.</p><p>“I took it for your own good, and for Martin’s.” Jon’s voice shook slightly as he added, “Especially for Martin’s.”</p><p>Tim snorted. “He’s not what you think he is, he—” His words were cut off as the cane fell again, sharper this time, sending him jerking against Jon’s desk.</p><p>“Don’t talk about Martin. We’re here to address your problems.”</p><p>“My problems? You’re the one who’s been the problem!”</p><p>Jon brought the cane down hard, and Tim let out a small moan as his cock brushed Jon’s desk. Why was he letting Jon do this? It didn’t—it felt right, but it didn’t make <em>sense.</em></p><p>“You wanted me to do my job? Well, now I’m doing it. Making sure you learn the correct lessons. Now continue the poem. I’ll stop once you’ve recited the next four lines correctly from memory.”</p><p>“Fuck, you have to be kidding me.”</p><p>“Language,” Jon snarled, slapping a hand against Tim’s cheek and leaving his eyes watering. “The poem, Tim.”</p><p>“Fine.” Tim’s hands clenched into fists, and he focused on the words he knew so well as Jon brought the cane down again.</p><p>“Strike pang from pang—” Tim gasped as another strike crossed his arse and he rubbed against the desk, knowing that if he came Jon would make sure next time the punishment was worse, but unable to stop himself. “—as note is struck from note.”</p><p>Another blow, and another, sending him reeling and struggling to form any words at all. But as little as he trusted Jon these days, he did trust one thing. Jon would keep this promise. Until Tim finished his required lines, there would be no release.</p>
<hr/><p>Martin knew he should’ve left like Tim told him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard it countless times before. The arguments they had, and nothing changed no matter what he said to them. All he could do was try and just be here, with tea, and maybe…maybe that didn’t help, but it was better than shouting about it. It had to be.</p><p>But Jon seemed different today. There was something dark in his eyes, something mirrored in Tim’s that made Martin hesitate at the door to the Archives, turning back before he could find the will to shove the image aside. Jon had the cane out when he left, and Martin was sure he wouldn’t go too far. That he wouldn’t be cruel, not like this. But would it hurt for Martin to be there, just in case? Even if Tim just needed help getting back to his desk, or Jon wanted tea after. He could be there for that.</p><p>And if he overheard a bit, wouldn’t that be better? Just so he knew, so he understood what had passed between them. After all, wasn’t part of his problem not listening? That was what Tim said. So he could fix that, sitting in a chair just outside Jon’s office.</p><p>God, he wished he’d left.</p><p>At first, it was almost normal. The arguing, the raised voices. Even them bringing up him seemed to fit, though it made Martin squirm and want to barge in there and tell them both to cut it out, that they both needed to calm down.</p><p>But he didn’t, because it wouldn’t be right, would it? That wasn’t allowed, and he knew they wanted him to keep out of it. And he was doing that even if he was listening in, ears straining as he caught Jon’s beautiful voice rolling over the lines he’d learned by heart, which sounded so much more exultant now than they had before. How could he not keep listening, after that?</p><p>The first smack of the cane made Martin jump, even though he knew to expect it. What else could Jon do? He’d promised to do better, and this was part of that. Taking care of Tim, guiding him and making sure they understood each other. None of the sneaking around that had tainted their relationship.</p><p>Though when Jon mentioned the book, Martin couldn’t help the sudden surge of panic. Tim hadn’t done more that let him glance at it, mostly reading to Martin from it, and he’d thought it was innocent enough but…they had been keeping it from Jon, hadn’t they? And Jon hated secrets. So it was better if he knew that too.</p><p>And well, Martin was somewhat responsible, wasn’t he? So even if Jon wasn’t punishing him…he had to stay. Had to listen as the required poetry spilled from Tim’s lips, and strike after painful strike rang out from behind Jon’s door. How could it be so loud? Maybe he should move further away. But he couldn’t find it in him to stand. He needed to know how this ended.</p><p>“Catch—catch the sob's middle music in thy throat,” was torn from Tim, split by three spikes of pain and sending shivers down Martin’s spine. He clutched at the edges of his chair, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to focus on the poetry, the beauty of the words, forcing himself not to imagine what must be going on behind Jon’s door.</p><p>“Take thy limbs living, and—fuck. Stop, that has to be enough. What gives you the right anyway?” Tim’s voice rose, and Martin stiffened in his chair, eyes flying open while he wondered if he should run. Should he get Sasha to stop this? But no, she wasn’t here. She never was these days. But Elias, he’d intervene, wouldn’t he? Except no, why would he? Jon was only doing his job, only doing what he had to, what was <em>right</em>. Tim had to understand that.</p><p>His teeth dug into his lip as the sound of skin against skin rang out; Jon must have slapped Tim. Would his handprint still be splashed across Tim’s cheek when he left? Another smack, and Martin swallowed down a moan, ignoring the tightness he could feel in his trousers.</p><p>“It’s my job. My role, my—my duty. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Jon said.</p><p>“Yes! But not like this, this is wrong…I know this is wrong, isn’t it?”</p><p>Martin could see it against the back of his eyelids, an image of what Tim might look like, his face as plaintive as his voice with the last question, looking to Jon for guidance. Like he hadn’t in so long, and maybe that was why it had all gone so wrong. There was a hush, and Martin wondered if Jon might’ve touched Tim gently, clasped his shoulder or even cupped his cheek. Tender underneath the necessary cruelty, like Martin was certain he’d always been.</p><p>“Remove your trousers and pants.” Jon’s command was so soft Martin barely heard it, just like he barely heard the hitch of breath from Tim and the rustle of clothes that followed. His own breathing seemed far too loud, and the tightness in his trousers was only getting worse. He forced himself to grip the chair harder; he couldn’t do this. Jon wouldn’t want it.</p><p>“Continue,” Jon said, his voice sounding rougher than before.</p><p>“Take thy limbs living,” Tim said, and the cane fell, breaking the line with a harsh cry, “and new-mould with these—” Another blow, and another, more erratic than before. Each one ringing out loud and clear across Tim’s arse, so vivid Martin swore he could feel the echo of it across his own skin, the mirror of Tim’s heated whimpers bubbling from his lips.</p><p>“A lyre of many—” The blows were coming too fast, and the fevered breathing was no longer coming only from Tim. Would Jon go too far? Martin’s stomach lurched at the idea, the image it conjured of Tim’s skin torn and bloody. And worse, what might follow if Martin tended to him, lips brushing the reddened marks of his shame.</p><p>“A lyre of many faultless agonies,” Tim finally said, the words ending in a pained groan as Jon’s caning abruptly ceased. In the silence, Martin realized his breathing was far too loud, his hands far too slippery on the edges of the chair. Slowly, he lifted one, resisting the temptation to palm his groin and instead forcing it against his mouth.</p><p>“We done now, boss?” Tim said, sounding exhausted but not beaten.</p><p>“No,” Jon said. “I don’t want you going off with that and involving Martin.”</p><p>Martin’s eyes flew open again, darting to the door which he saw to his horror was open just a crack, though he could’ve sworn it was locked before. As quietly as he could, he got to his feet, biting back a noise as his trousers rubbed against his undeniably hard cock.</p><p>“What if I promise I’ll wank in the toilets?” Tim said.</p><p>From his new angle, staring through the crack, he could see the welts littering Tim’s arse and thighs, how his muscles trembled when he forgot himself. But his back was straight, defiant still. Martin wasn’t sure if that was admirable, or only another way he was making it worse for himself.</p><p>“I’m afraid I don’t trust you,” Jon said stiffly, his eyes focused on Tim, drifting lower to what—Christ—what must be Tim’s erection.</p><p>Tim snorted, and as if he somehow knew Martin was there, shifted until he was parallel to the door, offering Martin a perfect view of his cock. “You don’t trust anyone, boss. But I suppose if you want a show, why not? I don’t have anything to hide.”</p><p>Hiding. The words were a painful reminder of how wrong Martin was to linger here. He could still leave, have his own wank in the toilets, or just a cold shower, and neither of them would be wiser. But as Tim’s eyelids fluttered and he began to stroke his cock, Martin found he couldn’t look away. Enraptured by each clever twist of Tim’s hand, the way his cock jumped and how his fingers tightened and flexed.</p><p>“Get it over with,” Jon growled, and that was enough to change Martin’s focus, to instead find Jon’s bitten red lips, parted in a hunger Martin couldn’t quite define. And his eyes were focused on Tim, narrowed and critical and assessing, looking for the secrets Tim must still be hiding, his own hidden hungers that he would never deny. Which was why Jon had to watch, to guide, and correct.</p><p>When Tim came, his own moan covered Martin’s, spilling from his lips as surely as Tim spilled on the desk. When he’d finished, Jon made a noise of dissatisfaction, and tapped the edge of the desk with his cane.</p><p>“Clean it up.”</p><p>“I thought you had Martin for that now?” Tim said.</p><p>Their eyes locked, and for a moment Martin thought Jon might start it all over again, beating every last filthy secret from Tim. And when he was finished, then maybe he would get to Martin. But all he did was raise his other hand and slap Tim across the cheek.</p><p>“It’s your mess. I don’t think Martin should have to deal with it, do you?”</p><p>“Fine,” Tim said, and Martin’s breath caught as he bent over the desk again and began to lick up his come. Slowly, leisurely, and clearly not to Jon’s satisfaction as he grabbed Tim’s hair, yanking on it until Tim began to pick up the pace.</p><p>Martin took a shaky step back from the door, trying to clear his head and ignore the horrible throbbing in his cock. Everything about it—it was wrong, wasn’t it? Except it felt so right, that Jon should do that. That Tim should obey, and that Martin should watch it all, silent and unseen.</p><p>Another whimper escaped his lips, and panic knotted in his chest. Whatever was going on, he needed to get out of here. He couldn’t think like this, couldn’t just wait for them to find him.</p><p>Even if he knew they’d surely find him eventually.</p>
<hr/><p>Tim tapped his pen idly against his lips and tried to look like he was focused on his work. It wasn’t that he wanted to slack off; he had his reasons for not fucking around, reasons for being here that didn’t change just because things had gone wrong. But Martin had been gone for thirty minutes now, and Tim knew he wasn’t taking lunch, knew that there wasn’t any errand he was running. Mostly because of the terrible excuse he’d made as he’d left, giving Tim a slightly pained smile and mumbling about having to take care of something.</p><p>A few months ago, Tim might’ve brought it up to Sasha. But she was off doing research, and lately it’d been weird between them. Hell, he might’ve even gone to Jon before, even if reluctantly. Whatever his faults, he cared about Martin. Maybe more than he realized.</p><p>But now—now he couldn’t go to Jon. And he also couldn’t look like he wasn’t working, not when his arse was still sore from the caning yesterday, when Jon deemed his work inadequate and sloppy. Tim couldn’t even really fault him for that; it hadn’t been his best. But he really didn’t want to find out what Jon might do if it happened again.</p><p>He set down his pen with a sigh and tapped half-heartedly at the research summary, even managing to get a few hundred words out by the time Martin came back into the office they shared. If it’d been the first weird absence of the day, Tim might’ve let Martin scurry back to his desk and duck behind his tower of files. But this was the third weird absence today, and with more than that this week. And you didn’t end up in this job if you weren’t willing to ask a few prying questions.</p><p>With a quick glance at the door to confirm they were still alone, Tim let out a theatrical yawn and stretched as he got to his feet. When he crossed the small distance between their desks and perched on the edge of Martin’s, he was met with nervous scrutiny. And weirder, a lingering look at his groin.</p><p>“Like what you see?” Tim said, giving Martin a flirtatious smile and leaning closer. He hadn’t come over to flirt, but setting a light tone never hurt. Not when Martin was so clearly worried.</p><p>But instead of the laugh or embarrassment or exasperation Tim would’ve normally expected, Martin only looked more nervous. Clutching at a stack of papers, he cleared his throat, giving the door a nervous glance.</p><p>“I don’t really have time for this now? You know how Jon’s been lately, I really don’t want to be late again, and it’s been a bit hard to focus.” Martin’s face was oddly flushed. It had been flushed when he’d come in. And his hands were trembling.</p><p>“What did Jon do to you?” Tim said, an edge of anger creeping into his voice. And yeah, maybe jealousy, he wasn’t too proud to admit it. Though who he was jealous of…well, had to save some psychoanalysis for later, didn’t he? Right now, the problem was Martin.</p><p>“Nothing! Nothing at all, he doesn’t…” He trailed off, giving Tim a guilty glance.</p><p>“Doesn’t punish you like me. Thinks you’re too good for this world, too pure. Well, when he’s not trying to devour you with his eyes.” Tim inched closer to Martin, leaning forward further to hopefully get a better look at him, his own gaze trailing down to Martin’s trousers.</p><p>“Don’t say things like that,” Martin hissed, eyes flicking from Tim to the door. “He might hear, and then he’ll, well, you know.”</p><p>“Punish me again?” Tim snorted. “He’ll do that anyway.”</p><p>He squinted at Martin’s trousers, and unless he was very much mistaken, Martin was sporting an impressive hard-on. Which wasn’t exactly unexpected, given Martin’s specific nervous study of Tim, but was damn weird all the same.</p><p>“Stop it, Tim,” Martin said, glaring up at him as he scooted his chair under the desk. “Just—just drop it, okay?”</p><p>“No,” Tim said, getting to his feet but not leaving Martin’s desk. “You’ve been acting odd all week, even for this place. Something’s up, and if it’s more evil worms or just Jon or some other awful thing, I want answers. Or at least don’t pretend you’re not lying to me.”</p><p>His voice rose as he spoke, and Martin winced. But Tim didn’t apologize, didn’t dare speak as he waited for Martin to respond. Finally, Martin pushed back from his desk, getting to his feet uncomfortably and stepping closer to Tim.</p><p>“Look, I’ll tell you just…not here, okay?” His voice was low, and he looked behind Tim to the door again.</p><p>“Sounds good to me,” Tim said. Not getting interrupted by Jon was definitely the ideal, with Martin acting like this. “I know just the place.</p>
<hr/><p>“You’re sure no one’s going to come in here? I mean, people have to use this stuff, right?”</p><p>“Sure they do. They also know not to come in here when the door’s locked.”</p><p>“But—” Martin’s eyes lingered on the placard on the wall, with its bold text warnings. “Are you sure it’s safe?”</p><p>“Absolutely. The warnings are for proper artefact handling. Nothing dangerous about the room itself. And because it’s for artefact handling…”</p><p>“The room is soundproof, and no one’s going to barge in,” Martin finished with a heavy sigh, though whether it was worry or relief Tim couldn’t quite tell.</p><p>“Not unless they want to meet a grizzly fate,” Tim said with more cheer than he felt, settling on one of the few hard plastic chairs that didn’t have any mysterious stains. “So, you going to talk now?” His eyes fixed significantly on the erection still straining against Martin’s zipper.</p><p>“It’s—it’s hard to explain.” Martin tangled his fingers together, knuckles going white as he took a deep breath and sat on a chair across from Tim. “Honestly, I probably shouldn’t even tell you?” He looked towards the door. “It’s a personal problem. Probably nothing—nothing spooky about it at all.”</p><p>“Don’t worry, I’m not going to spank you for saying spooky. Not unless you want me to, that is.” Tim gave Martin a comforting smile, and hoped Martin didn’t notice Tim’s wince as the crappy chair dug into his poor arse.</p><p>“Maybe that would help…” Martin said, his hands untangling to grip the edges of the seat. “It might be worth a try, anything would be.” He shifted, and whimpered, teeth digging into his lip as he tipped his head back. Tim’s mouth went dry, and he licked his lips, trying to clear his head.</p><p>“What’s wrong, Martin?” Tim said in a low voice. It was barely a question, halfway to a command. The kind of thing Jon might say, in the way he might say it, eyes dark and hungry. But if it worked, it worked, and though Martin let out another whimper as he adjusted his position again, he did open his mouth and speak.</p><p>“I can’t get off. At all. And I guess it wouldn’t be the end of the world, except I also keep getting hard, and I don’t know what to do about it. Ever since—” He cut himself off abruptly, somehow managing to go even redder and turning his head away from Tim.</p><p>And sure, this was sounding more and more like something Martin should see his GP about. But Tim had asked him here in confidence. And he had a responsibility for Martin. Whatever Jon thought, Tim did understand that. They just didn’t agree on the right way to execute that responsibility.</p><p>“Ever since what?” Tim asked, trying to gentle his tone. Giving Martin an encouraging smile when Martin dared another glance at him.</p><p>“I’m so, so sorry, Tim,” Martin said.</p><p>“It’d help if you’d explain what you’re apologizing for,” Tim said, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. “If it’s something Jon thinks is bad, maybe I don’t agree you need to apologize.” After all, what did Jon know? He had his own dark secrets, didn’t he? His own hungers he justified, even as he judged Tim. A bit of an authority and a cane didn’t change what he really was, didn’t change what he’d done.</p><p>What had he done? Tim shook his head, trying to focus on that thought. Searching, researching, looking into things, but that was his job, wasn’t it? And their job to help him, and he’d set them right. Why would Tim blame him for that?</p><p>It didn’t matter now. What mattered was Martin, and whatever he thought he’d done wrong.</p><p>“No,” Martin said, his voice going high. “I mean, yes, Jon probably would think it’s bad, and he’d probably be right, but that’s not why I’m apologizing? I—” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his voice steadier when he looked at Tim again. “I listened, when Jon punished you last week. And—and I watched as well. I know I shouldn’t have, that it’s private. I know it is, but I overheard and then I just couldn’t—I couldn’t leave.”</p><p>“Right,” Tim said, finding himself rather speechless for once. Whatever he’d been expecting, mundane medical issue or touching the wrong artefact, this hadn’t been on the table. He stared blankly at Martin’s terrified face, and tried to think about how to respond. Should he be angry? Probably, and maybe he was on some level. But the anger was a small thing, undercut but his primary reaction.</p><p>Fuck, that was hot.</p><p>Just imagining Martin watching him, turned on and desperate and unable to get off as Jon laid into Tim, words of violent poetry spilling from his lips. How long had he stayed? Had he seen Tim get off, seen what Jon did after? It didn’t really matter now, did it? Only that Martin wasn’t the only one struggling with raging hard-on.</p><p>Instead of saying anything, Tim dropped to his knees, crawling forward and pushing his way between Martin’s legs. When he reached for Martin’s fly, Martin let out a startled squeak, but didn’t stop Tim.</p><p>“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice gone slightly breathless as Tim unzipped him and pressed a hand to his cock, now only covered by the thin cotton of his pants.</p><p>“Think that’s pretty obvious,” Tim said. “Scoot forward, this’ll be easier that way.”</p><p>“What?” Martin said, though it seemed to be more reflex than a true question, given he did exactly what Tim said. “How is this going to help?”</p><p>Tim gave Martin his best seductive grin, and pulled his pants aside to wrap his hand around Martin’s cock. Martin let out a moan, and Tim joined him, palming his own cock through his trousers as he brought his mouth towards Martin’s.</p><p>“I’ve been told I have a clever tongue,” Tim said. “And you already know I’ve got a way with poetry readings. Maybe I want to write a new ode.”</p><p>Martin dragged a shaky hand through his hair, and then placed it gently on Tim’s head.</p><p>“That’s terrible,” he said, fingers tightening tentatively, grip growing stronger as Tim made an encouraging noise.</p><p>“Well, maybe I’ll have to use my mouth to make up for it then,” Tim said, his tongue flicking out to lick the head of Martin’s cock. “And seriously, it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”</p><p>“I—I guess it is? Maybe the problem, maybe it’s connected so—so if you do this…” He shook his head, and the hand in Tim’s hair tightened. “It’s weird though, isn’t it? It doesn’t make sense.”</p><p>“Not a lot does these days,” Tim said, with a laugh that might be a hair too bitter for the position they were in. “But as weird things go, I think a blow job is worth the risk, don’t you?”</p><p>Martin gave a shaky laugh of his own, and nodded. “Yeah. Why not? If you want to. Just be ready for it not to work, okay?”</p><p>“I’ll try not to take it personally if it doesn’t,” Tim said, smiling at Martin once more before finally taking that wonderful cock into his mouth.</p><p>It tasted—well, it wasn’t like Tim sucked cock for the taste usually, but somehow Martin’s tasted amazing. And the feel was like nothing Tim had experienced before, the way it stretched his lips, how Martin’s hips moved in little jerking motions, sliding it along his tongue. Normally Tim would’ve drawn things out more, but Martin had waited long enough and Tim needed more with a ferocity that was undeniable. He pushed forward, taking Martin into his throat and moaning around him, ears filling with Martin’s own desperate cries.</p><p>This had to be enough, to pull an orgasm from Martin. Maybe not just one. Who knew, given how long Martin had been denied? He might get hard again quickly, even if he came. If he did, Tim would happily suck on him all evening. Maybe fuck him, if Martin was up for that, though right now Tim couldn’t think of anything better than the cock stretching his lips.</p><p>Martin’s hands flexed in Tim’s hair, and Tim knew he had to be close. He moaned encouragement and palmed himself again through his trousers, though something kept him from taking his own cock in hand.</p><p>Then he felt Martin stiffen suddenly, his hand leaving Tim’s hair as he jerked out of Tim’s mouth. Before Tim could ask him what was wrong, he felt the slap of a palm against his cheek. When he lifted his head to look at who’d dared to interrupt them here, he wasn’t even surprised.</p><p>“I didn’t think you were one for breaking rules,” Tim said, nodding at the warning sign.</p><p>“Sometimes, disobedience requires it,” Jon said in a low voice. “And yours in particular.” He grabbed Tim’s hair, giving him a shake before letting go. “Lock the door. Then we’ll see about dealing with you two.”</p><p>Tim opened his mouth to argue, but closed it just as quickly as he got shakily to his feet and did what Jon said. Disobedience, that was expected, wasn’t it? But getting caught wasn’t tolerated. Even if Jon was unfairly good at catching people. Or at least unfairly good at catching Tim.</p><p>As he turned back towards Jon and Martin, he found Martin had also stood, and was now focused on removing his trousers. Tim savored the sight of it, his cock jumping as he watched Martin brace himself on the back of one of the chairs with the seat turned away from him.</p><p>“You’re so eager for him, are you? Then fine, you can have it,” Jon said, waving his cane at Tim. “Back where you were before. And open your trousers and pants, though don’t touch yourself.”</p><p>“Don’t worry, boss. I’ll let you do that,” Tim said as he walked past, getting a whack on his clothed arse he expected. He cried out, the hit not normally enough to do much, but given the state he was in…Christ, he should’ve thought this through better.</p><p>But there was nothing to be done about it now. He did as Jon said, kneeling and taking out his cock and leaving it there, bobbing obscenely as he leaned forward to take Martin back into his mouth.</p><p>Jon teased Tim’s cock with the cane for a moment, and Tim wondered if he intended to strike. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, fear and desire warring in his chest. But it didn’t matter. To his surprise, Jon turned away from him, and towards Martin, with a terrible look of disappointment on his face.</p><p>“I didn’t want to have to do this, you know. But I can’t have you becoming like him.”</p><p>Then he brought down the cane.</p>
<hr/><p>The cry torn from Martin’s lips was enough to give Jon pause, to bank the surge of anger he’d felt at finding Martin in such a compromising position. Perhaps there was another way to correct Martin’s actions. The cane drooped in Jon’s hand, and he reached out with the other to gently rub the welt he’d left.</p><p>“Jon, I—” Martin’s voice broke into a wanton moan, and he jerked his hips forward, into Tim’s mouth.</p><p>Jon’s hand and resolve tightened at once, and he brought down the cane again, crossing the first red line painted across Martin’s arse. When he struck a third time, Martin cried out, and Jon stilled again. He needed to find a balance between justified anger and necessary discipline.</p><p>“Jon,” Martin said softly, his hands flexing on the chair as his hips continued to make small jerking motions into Tim’s mouth. “I need it. You—you need to punish me.”</p><p>“Don’t tell me what I need to do,” Jon snapped, tapping the cane lightly against Martin’s thigh. “And stop moving like that. I told Tim to continue. I didn’t tell you to thrust into his mouth so shamelessly.”</p><p>“Yes, Jon,” Martin said breathlessly, and Jon felt a surge of pleasure as Martin obeyed his command. Though all was not well yet, given his impertinent response before.</p><p>He left Martin for now, and ignored the nagging thought that this was a sign of weakness, indulging Martin’s foibles in a way that would only ruin Martin in the long run. No, sometimes there were simply conflicts in how discipline must be kept, and it was important that Martin understand Jon dictated the punishment.</p><p>Instead, he turned his attention on Tim, who seemed to be taking to his assigned task with great enthusiasm. And to Jon’s surprise, he’d listened to the command to keep his hands off his cock, his fingers currently digging into his thighs.</p><p>“Behind your back,” Jon said, tapping the back of one hand with his cane. “Both of them. I find it’s best to limit the opportunity to fall to temptation.”</p><p>Tim glared up at him, but another unforeseen benefit to having Martin’s cock in his mouth was that he couldn’t voice any protest. And he obeyed readily enough, folding his arms behind his back and continuing to suck Martin’s cock, though with his gaze locked onto Jon.</p><p>“Close your eyes,” Jon said, and felt another thrill as Tim obeyed that command as well. Jon looked back to Martin, whose neck was twisted to stare back at Jon. “And eyes forward, Martin.”</p><p>“Yes, Jon,” Martin said, bowing his head with such sweetness that Jon couldn’t help but stroke his hair, before he turned back to Tim.</p><p>“Do you enjoy this?” Jon asked, cane trailing along where Tim’s lips met Martin’s cock, eliciting filthy noises from both of them. “I suppose you do. I wonder how little it would take, for you to make a mess of yourself?” He pulled the cane back, but didn’t strike, instead running it lightly along the length of Tim’s cock, and watching it jump.</p><p>“Would you like me to strike you? I imagine you would. Is that why you’re always so disobedient? You enjoy having me watch your every move? Just to make sure you don’t slip up. And when you do, well, then I’m there. Waiting to set you back on the right path. But perhaps I’m doing it wrong. Perhaps you want the attention.”</p><p>He withdrew the cane, and had his suspicions more than confirmed by the pathetic sound that Tim made, loud even with Martin’s cock to muffle it. Jon pressed his lips together and took a deep breath through his nose, willing his hand to remain steady. What he did might seem harsh but…they both needed this. They needed to be taught a lesson.</p><p>“Back a bit, but keep the tip in your mouth,” Jon said, tapping the cane against Tim’s cheek. This left Martin’s cock appealing exposed and on display, and the sight of it only steeled Jon’s certainty that this was the right course of action.</p><p>Unfortunately, Martin’s position made this a bit awkward, but Jon felt confident in his aim, and he could certainly approach the problem from below. He adjusted his grip on the cane, and held it at the angle he judged would get the correct result. Then he flicked it up to hit the underside of Martin’s cock.</p><p>“Ah—” Martin’s head pressed into the back of the chair, and he jerked forward into Tim’s waiting mouth.</p><p>“What did I tell you, Martin?” Jon said, striking his cock again as it withdrew most of the way. This time when Martin jerked forward, the distance was less, though still not entirely acceptable.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Jon. It’s hard, I don’t know if I can.”</p><p>Jon felt a welling of sympathy, one he brutally pushed down. Being too soft on Martin was what had gotten them in this position in the first place, wasn’t it? Martin needed a firm hand, just as Jon gave Tim. Hadn’t that improved Tim’s behavior? Fixed all the reasons Jon had needed to watch him so closely. Or at the very least, it had stopped the behavior from causing problems anymore. And that was Jon’s goal. To prevent such deviations, and ensure everything was exactly as it should be.</p><p>“You must learn. I won’t accept excuses, Martin.” He relented slightly, taking a moment to tease Tim’s cock with the cane, sliding the tip through the precome wetting the head. “I know you’re better than this, and I’m here to make sure you know that as well.”</p><p>“I think—I think I understand?” Martin frowned, and shook his head. “But how is this helping? Why—”</p><p>His words turned into another broken moan as Jon hit his cock with the cane again. Despite his protests, this time he showed rather admirable restraint, his hips only twitching forward slightly before quickly returning to their former position.</p><p>“If you have to ask that, then it only means this discipline is more necessary than I thought.” After all, it was clear why Martin needed to learn better. He shouldn’t be sneaking around with Tim, shouldn’t be hiding things from Jon. Or he’d end up corrupted just like Tim was, filled with dark secrets, things Jon didn’t know about that might destroy them all. And he couldn’t let that happen.</p><p>“Yes, Jon,” Martin said softly. “But—but just so you know, Tim was helping me. I—I was trying to get off. I haven’t been able to since I watched you discipline Tim last week.”</p><p>Jon felt a surge of anger, and it took all his strength to keep from striking Martin right then. On his cock, his arse, it hardly mattered, only that Martin felt it, that he knew how deviant he’d become. Daring to sneak around, to conceal this sort of thing from Jon. This was how the corruption started, the small things, the things his pupils—his assistants—thought didn’t matter, not understanding how they were reflective of a more deadly whole.</p><p>Still, it was good Martin had confessed. So Jon steadied his hand on the cane and took a shaky breath, waiting for his heart to calm before he spoke again.</p><p>“Thank you for telling me the truth, Martin. You know it will increase the necessary punishment,” Jon said, waiting until Martin gave a shaky nod. “But it’s better than the alternative, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Yes—yes, it is. Please, Jon.”</p><p>So sweet, even now. Jon ran a gentle hand down Martin’s spine, leaving it resting just above the swell of his arse as he turned his attention briefly back to Tim. His eyes were still closed, and he’d remained still as Jon requested. Surprisingly obedient, given his past behavior. And that sort of obedience deserved a reward. But first, he needed to see to the beginning of Martin’s punishment.</p><p>He swung the cane up against Martin’s cock, and was again pleased to see Martin’s admirable restraint in remaining nearly still, though his body trembled with effort and sweat had begun to soak through his shirt. Another stroke, and a moan spilled from Martin’s lips. That wouldn’t do at all, wasn’t what Jon wanted to hear. It made it hard to focus, his own trousers growing irritatingly tight as he looked at the scene before him.</p><p>“If you watched me discipline Tim, you know what I asked of him. Why not provide some lines of your own? I presume you have some memorized.” Without giving Martin a chance to respond, Jon brought the cane up hard against his cock, drinking in the little noise Martin made, and even better, the words that followed.</p><p>“My life is bitter with thy love,” Martin said, voice cracking as Jon hit his cock again. “Thine eyes—”</p><p>Martin whimpered as Jon adjusted his angle to toy with Martin’s balls, squinting at their current state. Perhaps it was cruel, but from what Martin said, they’d gone unspent for over a week now. He was curious to see if his own harsher touch drew from Martin what Tim’s deft tongue could not. But there was no need to rush things.</p><p>No, Martin should not be allowed this indulgence without the more routine punishment first. Particularly given he’d lapsed into silence again.</p><p>“Continue,” Jon said sharply, giving him a hard rap across one arse cheek and making Martin yelp and jerk forward, a motion which also drew a moan from the previously silent Tim. He brought down the cane again, perhaps too hard, the welt standing out luridly against Martin’s arse and making him cry out even louder. But despite the pain, this time he remained still. And he did continue his recitation.</p><p>“Thine eyes blind me, thy tresses burn me, ah—” Martin shuddered, his breath coming in sharp gasps. But Jon didn’t pause, couldn’t pause for fear he might lose his nerve, that once he was finished he might yet break down and take Martin into his arms and run gentle fingers through his hair.</p><p>“—thy sharp sighs divide my flesh and spirit with soft sound,” Martin continued, and the words washed over Jon, setting his skin aflame, making his vision blur and narrow to only the sight of his canvas, that skin marked more each time Jon brought down his cane. This was what he needed to focus on, not the soft sounds coming from Tim, not the vision of Tim’s cock, and the wonder of how Tim’s lips might feel stretched around Jon’s cock. Such a talented tongue, and perhaps that too would buy Tim’s silence. But at what cost?</p><p>“And my blood strengthens,” Martin said, voice stronger than it had any right to be, breaking again when Jon brought down the cane in a particularly vicious strike, marveling as Martin kept still through it, even though his legs trembled with effort. “And my veins abound.”</p><p>No, no, he thought the poetry would be better, but it was as dangerous as the less articulate peals of desire. Perhaps more so, because even as Jon continued to strike Martin, to give him what he needed, what only Jon could provide, he found himself responding in kind.</p><p>“I pray thee sigh not, speak not, draw not breath,” Jon said, each phrase punctuated with a strike of the cane, leaving Martin sobbing. Then he stepped back, examining his work, the masterpiece he’d carved into willing skin. And he turned his attention back to Tim.</p><p>Tim’s arms were still held tight behind his back, fingers digging into his flesh in an effort to keep still. His lips were reddened with the repeated stimulation from Martin’s cock, and his face was damp with sweat, a lock of hair clinging to his forehead. Perhaps it was unwise to reach out and brush the lock aside, too tender given their roles, but Jon had always been prone to rash decisions. It was one of the reasons he needed to make sure his pupils adhered to this discipline.</p><p>Better he be the only one to fall.</p><p>His fingers lingered on Tims’ face for a moment, tracing the edge of one eye before withdrawing to ready his cane again. It would likely take very little, to bring Tim over this edge. His cock already leaked, and Jon briefly toyed with the fantasy of making Martin taste it. After all, as long as they only acted under Jon’s command, there was no danger.</p><p>But no. It might seem too like a reward, and while Tim had lapsed into obedience, this was too much for what little he’d earned. Jon swung the cane just once against Tim’s cock, a hard strike that made him gasp and bend over, Martin’s cock slipping out of mouth as he spurted onto himself.</p><p>As Tim came back to himself, his eyes fluttered open, and his tongue darted out to lick a bit of come that had landed on his upper lip. Jon shuddered at the sight, and forced himself to ignore the way Tim’s eyes lingered on his own tight trousers.</p><p>“Go clean yourself up,” Jon said, his voice rough as he tried to regain his composure.</p><p>Tim got slowly to his feet, tucking his cock away though it did little to hide the mess on his clothes. Hopefully everyone had left for the day. Though maybe it would be better if they hadn’t. Why shouldn’t they see the truth of what Jon had done to Tim?</p><p>“You didn’t finish your part, boss.” Tim said, eyes locking with Jon as his lips quirked into a smile. “Let life burn down, and dream it is not death.” With that, he left Jon alone with Martin, unsure of whether he’d done the right thing. Unsure of why he’d done it.</p><p>Only knowing that he wasn’t finished yet.</p>
<hr/><p>“Stand up,” Jon said, tapping the cane idly against his leg.</p><p>As Martin hurried to obey, keeping one hand on the chair for support, he noticed the cane was wet with Tim’s come. Strange that Jon hadn’t asked Tim to clean it, or cleaned it himself. But Martin really didn’t think Jon was in the mood for further questions.</p><p>Even with Jon’s attentions, and Tim’s mouth on his cock, Martin still hadn’t come, still ached in a way that felt bone deep as his cock stood free and erect, flushed and desperate for any relief. Despite the pain that had come with Jon’s strikes, he found his eyes lingering on the cane. Wondering if Jon would hit him again, and if he wanted that. Did it mean something terrible if he did? Indecision warred inside Martin as Jon continued to tap the cane against his leg. If he wanted it for himself, it was bad. If Jon wanted it for him, it was good.</p><p>He shook his head, trying to clear it. That didn’t make sense. Shouldn’t it be the other way around, or rather both ways? He opened his mouth to ask Jon, because Jon had to know more, had to understand, even if Martin couldn’t quite figure out exactly what Jon was supposed to know. Just that he couldn’t figure this out on his own. And he couldn’t be the only one who felt this way.</p><p>“Why did I suddenly start watching cricket?” he asked, and nearly kicked himself as Jon gave him an utterly baffled look.</p><p>“Why in the blazes should I know? It’s a normal enough thing, isn’t it?” Jon shook his head, and Martin felt his pulse speed up, his stomach lurching as confusion furrowed Jon’s brow. “Yes. It’s definitely normal.” He rapped the cane suddenly against Martin’s cock, startling a moan from Martin’s lips. “Unlike that.”</p><p>“Right—I, you mean my cock generally, or…” Martin waved vaguely, daring a glance at the door. He wondered if Tim would come back, or take his chance to make an escape. It seemed important, somehow, that he returned. Like that might be the missing piece.</p><p>“Your—your condition. The problem you’re having with reaching, uh, completion,” Jon said, flushing and flailing the cane in his general direction. Though why that was what got to Jon and not everything before, Martin certainly didn’t know. “I’ll deal with it, of course.”</p><p>“You will?” Martin said, hoping he didn’t sound too eager for Jon’s taste. And apparently he didn’t, because Jon didn’t comment on it, instead readying the cane again.</p><p>“I believe it arises from your general lack of discipline. And I intend to cure that today.” Before Martin could say anything further, Jon swung the cane and struck his aching cock, sending a sharp wave of pain and pleasure throughout Martin’s body. A moan echoed from his lips, before he remembered Jon had taken issue with it before, and indeed seemed to be giving him a rather critical look now. But then he just sighed, and said, “Make your noises, just try to keep some modicum of decorum.”</p><p>When he struck again, Martin made sure to be quieter, though it was hard as the sensation permeated his body, terrible and wonderful at the same time. Part of him wanted to ask Jon for more, harder, faster. But he knew it was only likely to make Jon decrease his pace, and Martin also knew he should trust Jon to do right by him.</p><p>Another ecstatic strike, and Martin felt something he hadn’t felt in over a week. The bright edge of relief, the hint that perhaps this time he would finally have it. Another hit and his cock sung with pain. Martin’s moan turned into a whimper, and a gasp as Jon struck again and again.</p><p>“You’re lovely like this,” Jon said, so softly Martin almost didn’t hear it. The words weren’t for him, he knew. They were Jon’s confession, what he tried to hide, so desperate to know and see and control everything. So Martin didn’t respond. He let Jon have his secrets. And let himself focus on the pain.</p><p>And what a wonderful pain it was, one he knew would end so soon. The next strike was harder, so sharp Martin almost couldn’t bear it. And the one after that barely a graze.</p><p>The door opened again, and Martin’s head snapped towards it. Tim had come back, standing in the doorway with an odd expression on his face as he looked from Martin to Jon. Was he jealous? Maybe in part, but that didn’t seem quite the right description for the emotions flashing across his face.</p><p>“Close the door,” Jon said in a low voice.</p><p>Tim did so in silence, and as he walked over to Jon and Martin, Martin noticed with a start he recognized the baggy trousers Tim was wearing. The spare he kept in his desk, which of course Tim knew. The sight of it made Martin’s stomach squirm, as did the look that flashed across Jon’s face when Martin thought to check his reaction.</p><p>“I figured you didn’t want me wandering through the Institute naked,” Tim said with a shrug. Then before Jon could try another command, Tim was behind Martin, pressed against his back with an arm across his chest, and the other slung low around his waist.</p><p>“What do you think you’re doing?” Jon said, tapping the cane against the floor with a sudden fury that sent a haze of longing washing over Martin.</p><p>“Thought you might need some help, boss,” Tim said, his breath ghosting along Martin’s neck and making him shiver.</p><p>Jon tapped the cane again, and sighed.</p><p>“I suppose that’s acceptable.”</p><p>Tim’s grip tightened on Martin, and Jon swung. Held in Tim’s arms, Martin felt free to struggle, free to give into the urge to move into it, to move away, to let his knees buckle briefly when Jon struck again. Each strike seemed a bit harder, moving along the length of Martin’s cock, leaving only a burning wealth of stinging nerves in its wake.</p><p>Lips pressed to the point where Martin’s neck met his shoulder, and before he could ask what Tim was doing, he felt teeth dig in, making him cry out loud and clear, and louder still when Jon joined in with one final, furious strike. And then he was coming, spilling a mess that felt longer and more than any orgasm before, a fleck even managing to reach Jon’s cheek as he stepped back to watch Martin with wide eyes.</p><p>When his orgasm finally finished, Martin went boneless in Tim’s arms, distantly feeling the kiss Tim gave the bite mark before helping Martin into a chair.</p><p>“Clean him up,” Jon said, still keeping his distance, the cane tapping nervously against his leg.</p><p>“Happy to,” Tim said, dropping to his knees in front of Martin. His eyes flicked up to meet Martin’s, his hand going up for a moment towards Martin’s face, before settling on his thigh. Martin whimpered as Tim began to lick at his oversensitive cock, taking it into his mouth and sucking on it tenderly, before turning his attention to the surrounding skin.</p><p>When he was finished with the task, he gave Martin an odd smile, then got to his feet. He crossed the room towards Jon, who to Martin’s surprise backed away, hitting the wall and dropping his cane.</p><p>“Maybe you look in all the wrong places because you’re afraid of knowing the truth,” Tim said. </p><p>Then he closed the distance between him and Jon, and kissed him. For a moment, Jon didn’t resist, his eyes fluttering shut as Tim lavished him with attention. Martin felt a flare of jealousy, but something kept him rooted where he was. This was—it was wrong somehow. His eyes went to the cane, just in time to see a fine crack spreading in the wood, one he swore hadn’t been there before.</p><p>Then Jon shoved Tim away, wiping his mouth furiously on his sleeve and scrambling to pick up the cane again.</p><p>“You going to punish me, boss?” Tim said, stepping closer again. “Are you going to take everything this time, or are you still going to hold back?”</p><p>Jon’s hand trembled, and for a moment Martin thought he was going to strike. But instead he slumped back against the wall, and said in a weary voice, “Go. Just—just go. Both of you.”</p><p>And then Jon strode past them out the door without another word.</p>
<hr/><p>When Sasha took the rest of the afternoon off, they knew it’d have to be today. Even with Jon slowing down on the canings for the moment, he was more paranoid than ever, watching them constantly and questioning them whenever they were absent at the same time. Which meant this had to be dealt with soon, and Martin had to do the preparation alone.</p><p>It wasn’t exactly comfortable, fingering himself open with plenty of lube and inserting the rather sizable plug. On a bed, with time to relax and the space to sprawl, it would’ve been fine. But the only place that wasn’t likely to stir Jon’s suspicions was the loo, and maneuvering the supplies, well, the best Martin could say was that he got it in and didn’t dump anything important into the toilet.</p><p>Returning to the Archives, he exchanges a nod with Tim, before steeling himself and heading towards the break room. This part of it had become downright routine in the days following Jon’s order to leave. There was something comfortable to it, a warmth Martin hadn’t expected from Jon. It was almost enough to make him want to continue this…whatever this was.</p><p>But this was wrong. He knew it, even if he couldn’t quite articulate the details. A thousand little inconsistencies that added up to a picture he couldn’t parse, one that might seem fine for now. But as Tim pointed out, these things rarely stayed fine. Whatever was happening to them, they needed to break the pattern. And this was as good a way to do it as any.</p><p>Martin got tea, just as he always did, adding milk but no sugar. Then he went to Jon’s office, taking a deep breath and knocking on the door.</p><p>“Jon?”</p><p>“Come in,” Jon said through the door, and when Martin opened it and shut it behind him, Jon even gave him a tired smile.</p><p>Martin set the tea on the desk, shifting nervously as he waited for Jon’s command, hoping this wouldn’t be one of the days Jon asked him to lie over his knee bare arsed. Normally, Martin loved that as well, the feeling of Jon’s skin on his, the way he lingered, rubbing the marks he left. And how Martin could feel Jon’s cock harden, even though Jon always denied himself any release.</p><p>But today it would be a disaster. Jon would see Martin’s preparation, and while it would certainly lead to punishment, it would do nothing to further their plans. Martin supposed he could ask for Tim, get him to intervene, but it would be better not to have to resort to that.</p><p>Luckily for him, Jon simply scooted back his chair and gestured under his desk in clear invitation. Martin hurried under, settling between Jon’s legs and resting his cheek against Jon’s thigh, tantalizingly close to Jon’s cock. Already he could see it stiffening just from Martin’s presence. A state of affairs he was inclined to help along, nuzzling Jon’s cock and drinking in the quiet gasp and the tensing of his legs.</p><p>He didn’t tell Martin to stop, as Martin rubbed his face against the increasingly tight fabric, even mouthing the outline and leaving a dampness Jon failed to comment on. Jon’s reactions were small noises, brief cessations in the scratch of his pen, and a hand that wandered down to Martin’s hair, smoothing it and yanking at it in turn.</p><p>Normally, Martin might pull out his own cock, teasing it and keeping himself on the edge until Tim entered. But this time he forced himself to keep his hands on his legs. He needed all the focus he could get, with his mind already struggling as much as it could against the strange haze that had fallen over them all these last few weeks.</p><p>When the door opened, Martin stiffened. Jon clearly noticed it, hand tightening in his hair, but he didn’t say anything to Martin.</p><p>“You’re late, Tim.”</p><p>“Am I?” Tim said.</p><p>Martin’s fingers dug into his thigh, wishing he could tell Tim to not antagonize Jon for once. Not here, not now, when they were so close to finally breaking out of whatever this was. Then again, there was something about it that almost felt right. Part of the pattern, but maybe also a path to breaking it.</p><p>“Yes. But we can deal with the relevant disciplinary action later. Disrobe, please.” Jon’s hand slid lower to cup Martin’s cheek, and then to rub gentle circles into the back of his neck. Martin nuzzled his cock, noting the hitch in his voice when he spoke to Tim again. “Good.”</p><p>He stood then, and Martin followed, taking advantage of Jon’s focus on Tim to remove his own clothes as quickly as possible. When his fingers first grazed his own skin, it felt almost like a burn, making him hiss but push on. Whatever the—the whatever it was wanted, he wasn’t giving in. The burn was a good sign, all the more reason to continue.</p><p>“Bend over,” Jon said to Tim, not reaching for the cane but instead freeing his hard cock from his trousers. Another change since their explosive encounter. Another inconsistency, one Jon gave increasingly erratic explanations for. A release of tension into an appropriate receptacle. A demonstration of what Martin should not himself engage in. Sometimes, he didn’t give a reason at all, only stated it was discipline, and that they should simply understand.</p><p>“No,” Tim said, his eyes locking on Martin. And that was Martin’s cue, working the plug free and trying to ignore the way his skin seemed to ignite under Jon’s outraged gaze. “We have a lesson for you.”</p><p>“What are you doing?” Jon said, reaching for his cane and snapping it in Tim’s direction. The blow fell across Tim’s thigh, and for a moment Martin thought Tim might give in. But instead he moved around the desk as planned and sat in Jon’s chair.</p><p>“Come here, Martin,” Tim said, gesturing at his lap, where he was stroking his cock into full hardness.</p><p>“Don’t you dare, Martin,” Jon said.</p><p>Martin whimpered, everything inside him wanting to obey Jon. And maybe another time, he would’ve gladly done so, confident that the impulse was entirely his own. But this wasn’t only Jon. This wasn’t <em>right</em>. So climbed into Tim’s lap with his back to Jon, and slowly eased himself down onto Tim’s cock. It burned just like his skin, and burned more when Jon turned his furious attention on them.</p><p>But this felt right, as Tim gripped his hips, and Martin began to fuck himself on Tim’s cock. Even as Jon’s cane smacked across his arse with brutal precision, prickling in a way it never had before.</p><p>“You can’t be trusted,” Jon said. “And I’ll show you the consequences of that.”</p>
<hr/><p>It’d have been generous to call their plan reckless. Tim knew that, even when he and Martin had come up with it. Hell, it was generous to call it a plan at all, with the only direction they had guiding them an instinct to push into what felt like an external wrongness. Given the type of weird curse they seemed to be under, Tim wasn’t even sure they’d got it right. But even if they hadn’t, there were worse mistakes to make than Martin riding him like he was made for it.</p><p>“Tim,” Martin said, pressing his forehead to Tim’s as he whimpered, from the blows Jon kept bringing down, or from Tim’s cock. “Please, I— Faster.”</p><p>“Right,” Tim said, lifting a hand to pull Martin into a brief kiss, savoring the sting of his lips. Martin jerked forward, his cock brushing Tim’s skin as Jon’s cane fell again. Christ, Tim wanted to suck it, wanted to see Martin taken. He wanted to fuck Martin slowly, savoring it. Hell, maybe while Jon watched. Maybe Jon could fuck Tim after, then.</p><p>But not now. Now they needed to finish this. Tear apart whatever was tangling around them, before it suffocated them all.</p><p>He gripped Martin’s hips tighter, and if he left bruises, well, he didn’t think Martin would really mind. A thought that felt true, that Martin wouldn’t mind normally, that he might want Tim to hold him and take him hard, his cock slamming into Martin again and again. They both moaned, the sound mingling with the swish of the cane, the sharp smack of it against Martin’s skin.</p><p>“I don’t think I’ll be able to come,” Martin murmured, staring into Tim’s eyes with a glazed desperation.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it. I think—” He buried himself deep into Martin, watching those beautiful lips part and wanting to take them again and again. “I think it’ll happen. Once he does it.”</p><p>Whatever had been keeping Martin from coming, it didn’t seem to affect Tim, and fuck was he glad of it now. Because Jon seemed to have truly lost it, face frozen with a cold fury as he laid into Martin as Tim came inside him. Martin clenched around him, sending a final agonized wave of pleasure coursing through Tim.</p><p>The orgasm seemed to give Jon pause, the cane drooping in his hand as he looked between Tim and Martin with wild eyes. Which gave Tim enough time to help a shaky Martin to his feet, bending himself over the desk as Tim knelt beneath it. But even with Martin’s cock bobbing tantalizingly in front of his face, Tim didn’t take it. Not yet, not while Jon still was caught on this edge of uncertainty.</p><p>“You need to join us, Jon,” Martin said, his voice stronger than Tim had expected. But then it had been Martin who had insisted on the plan.</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jon said, his fingers tightening on the cane. Tim’s hands curled into fists as he resisted the urge to snap at Jon. He needed to trust Martin, and he knew Martin was right. If Jon saw him as the evil corrupter, he couldn’t be the one to encourage Jon to do this. At least not yet.</p><p>“I—I’m not sure,” Martin said, even as he spread his legs more, inviting in a way that Tim noted with satisfaction made Jon take a hesitant step closer. “Just that something needs to change. Something needs to break.”</p><p>To Tim’s surprise, it wasn’t Martin that Jon turned to then, but Tim. His brow furrowed in obvious confusion, as the cane wavered in his hand.</p><p>“Come here, Tim. On your knees.”</p><p>Tim swallowed, torn between instinctual defiance and the worry that the defiance was itself another aspect of whatever spooky spell they were under. He inched forward, and Jon remained where he was, not commanding Tim further. That had to be a good sign. Or at least it was enough to push Tim into continuing crawling forward, stopping at Jon’s feet.</p><p>“Suck,” Jon said softly. The cane was still in his hand when he grabbed Tim’s hair, banging awkwardly against Tim’s head. But he didn’t try to use it, and when Tim took Jon’s cock into his mouth, the noise Jon made was almost pained.</p><p>“There’s something wrong,” Jon said, yanking Tim’s head forward forcing himself deep into Tim’s throat, making tears well at the corner of Tim’s eyes, and fuck it felt good. “There’s been something wrong for a while.”</p><p>Tim swallowed around Jon’s cock, his throat aching, his lungs burning, but he still didn’t want Jon to leave him. Wanted nothing more than a cock in his mouth, filling him perfectly, stopping up all the painful words and wiping his mind blank.</p><p>He wasn’t going to get it, not from Jon, who pulled Tim off his cock and stared down at him, clearly waiting for a response. Tim’s eyes lingered on Jon’s cock for a moment, slick with his spit and jutting luridly from his trousers. He swallowed the impulse to tell Jon to take off his clothes and stay awhile, and instead focused on what he’d said.</p><p>“Yeah. But this is different. A different kind of wrong. I think we can fix it.”</p><p>For a moment, Tim thought Jon was going to argue, but then the cane dropped from his hand, and he grabbed Tim’s hair again, urging him to crawl back towards Martin. Definitely not something Tim was going to argue with, not when Martin was laid out like Christmas dinner, his come still dripping from Martin’s hole, and Martin’s cock stiff and thick and wonderful, everything Tim wanted right now.</p><p>But he couldn’t just do that. It wouldn’t be enough. And even with the cane abandoned, there was still hesitation in Jon as he rested a shaking hand lightly on Martin’s arse.</p><p>“It wouldn’t be appropriate,” he said softly.</p><p>“But fucking me is fine?” Tim said</p><p>Jon shot Tim an irritated look. “No. Yes. It’s—it’s different. You’re different.”</p><p>“Corrupt?” Tim suggested, and even now the world felt right, filling him with a vague sense of shame which seemed to shift and transform whenever he tried to pin it down. Because it didn’t matter what the shame was, did it? That was what made it so powerful. Only that he knew he knew he couldn’t be trusted, and that he deserved punishment.</p><p>“I—” Jon’s hand tightened around one of Martin’s arse cheeks, and Martin let out a small moan. Tim couldn’t see Martin’s face like he was, but he could see the way his body stiffened.</p><p>“Why?” Martin said.</p><p>Jon seemed startled at Martin speaking, but maybe that was good right now. It certainly seemed to jog something for him, his hand moving to graze the edge of Martin’s hole.</p><p>“It— I can’t. The book, it said…” Jon swallowed hard, then met Tim’s eyes. “I don’t trust you. I can’t.”</p><p>A familiar anger burned in Tim’s chest, familiar enough he clung to it as he spoke again.</p><p>“Fine. Then trust yourself, you ass. You can feel something is wrong, I know you can. So do something it doesn’t want.”</p><p>Tim didn’t give Jon a chance to answer as he crawled back under the desk, putting a hand around Martin’s cock and guiding it to his lips. It was all on Jon now, and maybe Jon didn’t trust Tim, probably didn’t trust Martin either. But right now, they had no choice but to trust Jon. Once upon a time, Tim was pretty sure it hadn’t even been hard.</p><p>Maybe that would be enough.</p><p>As Martin’s cock slid between Tim’s lips, he jerked suddenly forward, making Tim gag and struggle to get his bearings. For a terrified moment, he thought Jon had grabbed the cane, but then a hand came around Martin to press against his cheek, and he realized the position was all wrong. Sloppy seconds it was, then, each thrust Jon made into Martin drawing a pained noise from his lips. Like it hurt to fuck Martin, but it hurt more not to.</p><p>And fuck, was Tim feeling that right now, wrapping his hand around Martin’s calf to keep himself steady as Martin’s cock went into his mouth again and again, drive by Jon’s own furious fucking. Deep into Tim’s throat, until he could barely breathe. But that didn’t matter, only let him focus more on the sensation, the sweet stretch. The hopeful release for Martin he hadn’t gotten last time.</p><p>“You don’t have to obey me,” Jon said, startling Tim out of his daze as his fingers pressed harder against Tim’s cheek, feeling Martin through him, feeling them both. “Either of you. Unless you want to.” The last felt like an admission, a confession in its own way. Permission to disobey that made obedience all the more alluring.</p><p>“Take what you want, Martin,” Jon said, with another sharp thrust, forcing Martin deep into Tim’s throat as Tim moaned and swallowed and drank in the come as Martin finally let go.</p><p>Tim continued to suck on him through the aftershocks, loving Martin’s whimpers, the way he didn’t seem to want Tim to stop. But then Jon’s hand moved to his hair, tugging Tim reluctantly away.</p><p>“I need you to do one more thing for me, Tim.”</p>
<hr/><p>Being inside Martin felt—Jon couldn’t manage to deny it anymore—it felt wonderful, warm and tight and perfect. Part of his mind still whispered that was why it was wrong, that he had to be vigilant, that he was always being deceived. Fucking Martin, accepting tea from him without a keen eye for suspicion, it didn’t matter. It was a distraction, a lie, a plot. Jon needed control, needed authority, and if he broke for only a moment, he would fail.</p><p>He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to stay inside Martin, though he’d stopped moving for the moment. Whatever Tim and Martin were doing, whatever they’d planned, it seemed to be working. There was something wrong, something off. And he was sure now it was that book, the book that had seemingly vanished when all of this had started to seem normal and right. He gestured towards the cane and nodded at Tim, who crawled over to it and picked it up before getting to his feet.</p><p>“What do you need me to do, boss?” Tim said.</p><p>When he looked at Jon, his eyes seemed clearer and—and almost like he was willing to trust Jon again. If only for the moment.</p><p>“I think you need to hit me with it. It’s—it’s assigned us roles, of a sort. And that would be an aberration.”</p><p>“And then?” Tim said, giving the cane a wary look.</p><p>“It might break? I don’t know. But it’s worth a try, isn’t it?”</p><p>Tim nodded slowly, moving to stand behind Jon, slightly to one side. The perfect position to strike him, and Jon knew that knowledge wasn’t something he’d come by naturally. As he slowly began to thrust into Martin again, everything inside him screamed that this was wrong, that he needed to snatch the cane from Tim, turn it on him and Martin until they understood that only Jon could hold it. That only Jon could keep them in check.</p><p>No, no. He needed to trust them. They had a plan, they didn’t want to harm him. And they knew what they were doing.</p><p>“Are you okay, Martin?” Jon said, cradling his hip with one hand. Wanting to change position, to sit down with Martin speared on his cock and sprawled across his lap. Perhaps then Tim could watch, eyes keen as he stroked himself to another orgasm, and came on Martin’s face at Jon’s command.</p><p>But no, no that wouldn’t work now. The cane had to be turned on him.</p><p>“Yes, Jon. I can take it.” Martin laughed softly. “I want to. Really.”</p><p>Jon felt something in his heart twist, and when he looked at Tim, he found the eyes that met his had gone surprisingly soft. Almost longing, in a way that made him want to look away. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.</p><p>“Hit me, Tim. And don’t stop until it breaks.”</p><p>The first strike was a shock of pain, making Jon thrust hard into Martin as they both gasped. The second one was less of a surprise, but no less painful for it, adding another welt to the first. After the third fell, with Martin clenching weakly around Jon as Jon bottomed out inside him, Tim paused, and gave his arse a considered tap.</p><p>“How about some poetry, boss?”</p><p>Jon laughed hollowly, pressing his face into Martin’s sweat damp back. “I suppose that’s appropriate enough. What—ah—what would you like?”</p><p>Beneath him, he felt Martin shudder and say, “Yea, all sweet words of thine and all thy ways.”</p><p>Jon shifted back again, grabbing Martin’s hips hard as he sucked in a breath, and started to thrust into him again.</p><p>“And all the fruit of nights and flower of days,” Jon said, crying out when Tim hit him again, this time low and sweet just above his thighs.</p><p>Fingers grasped his hair, tipping his head back and capturing his lips in a kiss, broken for Tim to murmur against his mouth, “And stinging lips wherein the hot sweet brine.” Then he let Jon go, and readied the cane in time to hit as Jon said the next line.</p><p>“That Love was born of burns—Ah, fuck—” Part of him wanted to ask if the increase in speed was necessary, but he shoved the thought aside, focusing on Martin, and how his body held Jon’s cock, warm and perfect and terribly welcoming. “—and foams like wine.”</p><p>Jon heard a crack, and when the cane came down again, it didn’t just feel sharp, it <em>was</em> sharp, jagged where it had nearly broken in half. He could feel he was close, so close, and he knew that the poem was probably meaningless, but something drove him forward, jerking into Martin with increasing erratic speed as Martin panted and moaned and Tim brought down the cane again.</p><p>“And eyes insatiable of amorous hours,” Jon said with a final gasp, before he shuddered and came, just as he heard the final crack.</p><p>He stayed there as seconds ticked by, bent over a trembling Martin, simply enjoying the sensation of Martin beneath him, and Tim pressed to his back, running surprisingly gentle fingers through his hair.</p><p>“Hey, Jon, this is lovely but…” Martin squirmed under him, and Jon stood up hastily, stumbling and nearly falling if not for Tim’s quick reflexes.</p><p>“Sorry,” Jon said to Martin, who was unbending himself gingerly, testing his hole and wincing as he rested against Jon’s desk. “And thank you.” This directed at Tim, who shrugged as he deposited Jon back in his chair, and joined Martin on Jon’s desk.</p><p>Silence fell between them. He knew he should say something, he was their manager after all. Responsible for them and this—maybe this wasn’t directly his fault, but as his mind cleared and the haze of the past few weeks drained away, he found he had doubts about things he’d been so certain of before. Doubts enough to make him keep his distance, as he swiveled his chair to check what had become of the cane.</p><p>To his surprise, instead of shattered wood a book sat on the floor. One he recognized from Tim’s desk, something about an Edwardian boarding school. Of course. Filled with filth and—</p><p>“No, absolutely not,” Martin said, slamming one of Jon’s desk drawers shut. He picked up the book gingerly and held a lighter to it, waiting for it to catch before he dropped it into the bin.</p><p>“Huh,” Tim said. “Surprisingly simple. Pity about the cane though.” He gave Jon a took that held rather more weight than Jon was used to from him.</p><p>“We—I—could get another. I don’t imagine they’re that hard to acquire,” Jon said tentatively, looking from Tim to Martin. “That is, if that would be—Christ, what am I saying, I’m sorry, that’s—”</p><p>“Completely inappropriate?” Martin said, holding out a hand to Jon. One he took, letting Martin pull him to his feet to join him and Tim. “I think we might be a bit beyond that?”</p><p>“I—I suppose so, if…” Jon sighed, and sagged against Martin, eyes falling shut until he felt a hand gripping his shoulder, and opened his eyes to see Tim there, a hesitant smile on his lips.</p><p>“Right now, I think we all need sleep.” Martin said, running his fingers through Jon’s hair. “And then…”</p><p>“We can talk. Really talk,” Jon said, meeting first Tim’s eyes, then Martin’s.</p><p>“And here I was going to suggest more poetry reading,” Tim said, dragging them both along to the storage room as Martin laughed softly, and Jon found himself joining in.</p><p>“But make sure to check the bookplate first. I’ve had rather enough of this sort of in-depth exploration.”</p><p>“Your wish is our command, boss,” Tim said.</p><p>Jon shook his head, trying to hide his smile as he realized for the first time in a long time, those words felt true.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title is from the same poem quoted throughout the fic, "Anactoria" by Algernon Charles Swinburne.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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